Every Bit The Monster
by Shinigami Yumi
Summary: Devil Survivor. MC has decided to be the Messiah, and his cousin deserves to hear the news first hand. But private time with Naoya always ends up like this, and five years is plenty of time for conditioning. Warnings inside.


**Title:** Every Bit The Monster  
><strong>Fandom:<strong> Megami Ibunroku: Devil Survivor  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Massive and explicit sexual violence. Incest, BL. First person POV. Un-beta-ed. Don't read if you know you're going to be offended, and considering how little time I have to write lately, I probably won't even notice if I get reported and they suspend my account.  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Yes, the size of the galaxy. The whole game, especially for the Kingdom of Saints ending, which I hate only less than Desperate Escape, and possibly for Silent Revolution as well.  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Naoya/MC  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> I only wish I owned anything Megaten Studios produced. I really do. D:  
><strong>Comments:<strong> So I only just discovered that this category exists, albeit merged with some other MegaTen games. Therefore, I decided to upload this little something I wrote soon after I finished the game. Also, lol, don't judge the darkness of my mind. XD

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><p>I've thought about it, and my mind is made up. I'm going with Remiel to be God's Messiah, and tomorrow, we will defeat the remaining Bels, including the one inside Amane, before we climb the Hills Building to summon Babel. Naoya would be most displeased, of course, but choosing any other solution would only result in this ordeal repeating centuries later. He would say to just force God out of the equation, but being a demon overlord isn't what I want to do with my life. Nevertheless, bad news should be delivered personally, especially when it's between myself and Naoya. He's so much more than family, and no matter what happens tomorrow, I want to see him. At the very least, I might have a bed for the night.<p>

He opens the apartment door before I knock, which explains why his is the only apartment in all of Aoyama that is intact and unraided. Red eyes have a harder edge to them than usual, but my cousin lets me in regardless. He already knows, naturally; Naoya always does, which is why he walks directly to the kitchen cabinet as I close the door behind me, takes out a bottle and a glass, and tosses back three full glasses of the bottle's contents in a row. That's Naoya-speak for "I'm irate, and I don't want to talk about it." In a way, that's a relief. It means that all the fighting and games will take place tomorrow, and tonight might just go better than I expected. On the other hand, he will be spending all night taking out his resentment on me like the jerk that he is.

I take in familiar surroundings in the awkward silence. There's a pillow on the sofa with a fresh indentation in it and a large flower pot is being used as a makeshift fireplace nearby. Naoya is nothing if not resourceful, and the thought makes me smile. Abruptly, I spot something hurtling towards me out of the corner of my eye and dodge reflexively. Glass shatters against the wall behind me, and I realize that the storm has come early. I try to grab his arm to make him listen long enough to calm down, but he intercepts the move and twists my arm to pin me to the kitchen counter with it behind me. He grabs my other arm to do the same with it as he leans in; the scent of shochu on his breath is just the perfect balance of alluring and revolting. My arms and shoulders ache from the angle, my chest hurts from the impact, and being bent over his kitchen counter is so routine that I have a conditoned response to it.

I press flushed cheeks to cool formica as he pulls off the headphones he bought me and gasp as he whispers angrily in my ear. "Of all the paths you could have chosen, you just have to pick the most foolish. With all your power, you could break free from His oppression forever, but no, you choose to serve Him. That's why He's always loved you best. You've always been His favourite, little brother. No wonder. You believe every little thing He says."

"It's the only way to prevent this ordeal from recurring without being the King of Bel. I don't want to be a demon king, Naoya."

My cousin laughs bitterly, the fury gone as swiftly as it came. "You think it'll stop the ordeals? Just give it another thousand years or so. Mankind will stray once more from the narrow path He has laid out for them, and you'll be right back where you started. You'll even get reincarnated to that time to watch and make this choice again, Abel."

Suddenly, all the talk about my being the human Bel just makes so much sense. I've always thought that Naoya calling me his kid brother was simply an affectionate taunt, but I'd wondered about the flashy guy in Kannagi-cho saying so. The angels always react strangely when he is mentioned; they even wanted to come with me when I said I was going to see him, and only the most insistent protests had dissuaded them. All of a sudden, I think I understand everything. I crane my neck to look at him. "As will you. You intend to stop me though, don't you? Will you kill me, then, as you did all those years ago?"

Naoya smiles at my words, and for the first time since the lockdown began, he seems almost happy. Not amused, not pleasantly surprised, just happy. "Unlike you, I've spent the last millennia growing a brain." His free hand trails down my side, deceptively gentle, as he presses a light kiss to the back of my neck. "I'm through with sacrificing what I have for what will never be mine." His searching fingers slip under my waistband, and I belatedly realize that the soft whine I hear is my own. It has been too long. We hadn't seen each other for months before the lockdown started, and then we were all too busy fighting to survive.

"But you will fight me tomorrow?" I manage as he touches me like only a man that has once slit his own brother's throat can.

"Of course," he murmurs before sucking lightly on an earlobe. "I need to put a stop to my kid brother's idiocy, don't I? But for now, I will take pleasure in reminding Him of just how impure you already are."

Private time with Naoya always ends up like this. On some level, I know it goes against all moral (especially according to _them_) and social norms, but it's always good, and while he's defiling me on his kitchen counter, it's hard to consider even his most dysfunctional reasons. He leans forward to hold my arms in place with his body, and I can feel him pressed against me, hard and demanding. Amidst the thrum of desire, I wonder when my pants were discarded, but it's easy to forget. Everything is easy to forget when we're like this, and I want him to lose control the way only I can make him, even if I barely survived the last time he did.

His now free hand slides up my chest under my shirt to haul me backwards with him as he backs into the nearest wall. I tilt my head back to rest on his shoulder, and he obligingly leaves a mark on my exposed throat. My feet scrabble for purchase on the tiled floor, but my legs feel like jelly, and he has to wedge his knee between my thighs to hold me up. The new pressure is almost too much, but his firm strokes become a feather-light dance on my skin. Naoya has always been a tease, especially when he's angry or upset like he is today. I moan and writhe against him as he toys with my nipples, his caress ever treading the thin line between pleasure and pain, and I'm begging him to finish me off before it even registers that I've said anything.

He chuckles. "Such honesty. I love you best when you're like this, Abel." My cousin presses his lips to my jugular, scraping lightly at the skin over the artery with his teeth, and I can't help arching against him in arousal. "Has it been a long time?" he asks mockingly.

"There's never been anyone but you, Naoya," I tell him breathlessly. "Not then, not now." He bites down savagely enough to draw blood, deliberately missing my life by a hair's breadth, and the pain only brings me closer. It takes only a light twist of his fingers to end this, and all the tension wound up in my gut from a week of living on pure adrenaline rushes away. It's his arms that keep me standing, and I lean heavily against him, tilting my head up to press a kiss to the hard line of his mouth. He kisses me back, my reward for saying what he wished to hear, and doesn't keep me from freeing my arms. The aftertaste of the alcohol suits him, and I murmur my question teasingly against his lips. "What of you, Cain? Has time opened your heart to me, or will you again bury me and find another?"

"...Heh. I haven't been convicted of multiple homicide, have I?"

I smile as he closes his eyes. When the feeling returns to my arms, I turn to casually push the robe off his shoulders and remove his shirt. I am gentle because he never is, and it only makes him want to hurt me more. My kisses are soft because the languor provokes his impatience, and only he can truly awaken the demon that sleeps within me. Sometimes I marvel at how easily this comes to me, how natural this has always been between us. I was ten when I ran up to give him a hug where he sat at his computer, and he had simply turned his head to brush his lips against mine for the first time. The following year, we barely escaped being caught with our tongues intertwined by my parents, and I had only been twelve for two months the night I muffled my first cry of orgasm with a pillow so the neighbours wouldn't ask questions when my parents returned from their business trip.

Naoya grabs my shoulders to crush me to him impatiently, and I sink my teeth into his lean but muscular chest in retaliation. He thunks the back of his head against the wall as I leave a trail of bleeding bite marks down his taut torso and shudders when I lap up the trickling crimson. I sink to my knees to undo his pants with my teeth because I know he'll get a kick out of it, and the quickening of his breath makes me want to touch myself. I push fabric aside to take him in my mouth, and he swears colourfully. His grip on my shoulders tighten, long fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, but I make no protest. I remember well how to both tease and torment my dear cousin, yet I'm always impressed by how still he is. The low groan and the shift of weight as he braces himself against the wall are my only indication of his waning self-restraint, and I can no longer keep from fisting my own cock roughly. I'm so hard it hurts, precum pools on the white tiles below me, and I moan around his length in my throat as I thrust desperately into my hand.

Then he's pulling me up brusquely by my hair and throwing me carelessly to the floor in the direction of his room. In a flash, he's atop me, and my back arches as his jaws sink into my shoulder. The pain is as vivid as the memories this calls to mind, and I can't hold back the cry of pleasure that escapes me when he pulls my hand away to lick my seed off me with torturous slowness. Things between us only intensified when he moved out. It was always Naoya who cared for me, Naoya who played with me, walked me to school and helped with my homework while my parents toiled in their tiny offices. When he began making perhaps more money than my parents ever would from freelance programming, it was my cousin who bought me nice things, from my cellphone to my iPod, from the Nike sneakers to the Diesel jeans. He was a brother, a playmate and a lover, and I almost didn't know how to live without him. I missed him so much that I slept over in Aoyama every weekend for the first two years, and within half that time, we'd left not a single corner in this apartment free from our debauchery. If I tried, I could probably smell him in the carpet, taste him on the walls and feel him in every chair.

"Since when are you allowed to touch yourself?" he demands hoarsely as he pulls my shirt off and drags me along the carpet to hurl me into the corridor wall with enough force to fracture bones. I nearly come from the pain. My mind barely registers the burn of the abrasions on my skin before he is upon me once more, attacking me with brutal voracity, and punishment has never been so sweet.

This is what Naoya is like beneath the mocking arrogance, beyond the cold ingenuity: savage, violent and bloodthirsty, a monster only I can know so intimately and live. He leaves bites, bruises and welts on me every time, and I know I'm as sick as he is because every cut and scratch that he inflicts only leaves me wanting more, wanting him more. The sound of his name on my lips is a pathetic keen, and I bury my hands in teal hair to make him kiss me. Our teeth connect roughly in our ferocity, and I kick off from the wall and floor with all my strength to slam him into the opposite wall hard enough to daze. The blinding pain brings him over the edge, and I straddle him when he slides to the floor.

For now, everything is hazy enough for him to let me plunder his mouth. For these few moments, I can hear him sigh contentedly as I trace the ridges of his spine, the anger, hatred and resentment he has borne for so long absent for the briefest of interludes. He whimpers softly as I clean his torso with my tongue, and the taste of blood and semen on his sweat-slick skin makes me hunger, hunger for him, to be inside him, to take him inside me. I swallow thickly and cup his cheek in my palm, my hand shaking with inhuman desire. I gather him to my chest in a tender embrace and grind my hips into his to take my mind off the taste of his bloodstained flesh, the feel of my nails piercing his skin. How impure I already am indeed. I'm every bit the monster he is, and we know it, _I_ know it, so I never stop finding him excuses to hurt me.

Naoya shakes his head to clear his vision and regain his senses, and I feel the change. I wrap my legs around his waist to hold on, and then he's spinning us through an open doorway at dizzying speed. His room is covered in broken glass from where an avian demon broke in through the window to meet an untimely end. The only pristine area is where his computer on a desk in a corner is connected to a generator, and I don't doubt that it's the only reason he has one. He dives forward unceremoniously to send me crashing into a sea of glass shards, and then he's pressing damp fingers into me, and I can't decide if it's the lacerations in my back as I writhe on the jagged edges or the stretching of my arse that has me begging him for release all over again.

My hand closes on a piece of glass, and I instinctively plunge it into his inner thigh till it meets bone. He gasps when I pull it out, a spasm racking his frame; then he's plunging into me,tearing me apart like only he will ever do. As he did then, so he does now - he rips me in two, inside and out, trembling as our blood mingles, promising me things that will never be. He can't change my mind, he knows, but I believe him when he swears I'll feel him inside me still as I fight Babel tomorrow. And I want that. I want this. And I make him promise me that if he kills me tomorrow, he does so with a blade through my heart, that I may feel his hand in my chest, that its beat may be imprinted upon his soul more deeply than any Mark that God can create.

I scream as he fucks me mercilessly, the glass cutting longer gashes into my back. I can barely breathe from it all, yet he's carving something into me with a shard of glass. It's Akkadian. I don't know it, but suddenly I do, and then he's dragging the bloodstained tip over my cock, and I'm lost to searing white. He collapses onto me as I struggle to catch my breath. There's blood everywhere, and I can no longer feel the pain or even most of my body. I lift a hand to card my fingers through his damp hair and dimly note the glass slivers embedded in the back of my hand.

"You don't stand a chance, Naoya," I whisper. I don't have the presence of mind to hide the truth as I fight to remain conscious for just a little longer.

"Cocky," he remarks without moving from where his head rests comfortably on my chest.

I feel the curve of his smirk on my skin and manage a slight chuckle. "I learned from the best." It must be abnormal that I can savour this, even as everything begins to grow dark.

"...Hmph. No wonder. You're my brother."

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><p>It is a reddish sunrise that wakes me, and the smell of coffee is in the air. I sit up on the sofa, clothed and unscathed. Everything, <em>everything<em>, feels like a dream, and the modified COMP lying beside a mug and a bowl of udon on the coffee table are my only proof that I didn't just fall asleep in Shibuya seven days ago and imagine it all. Naoya's nowhere to be seen. His presence is absent from the apartment. He must have left only minutes ago though because breakfast is still steaming hot. He made breakfast for me, just like he had done every day for eight years before he left my house, that manipulative bastard. Still, I can't say I'm any different. I had no reason to visit. Naoya would have known as soon as I made my decision which path I had chosen. There was nothing new I could have told him, and yet, here I am.

I smile fondly at the first sip of coffee. No one makes breakfast coffee quite like Naoya does, strong and black with a shot of spiced rum and a spoon of maple syrup, and there's nothing quite like leaning against his side to drink it slowly as he writes code on his laptop on a winter morning. I ravenously devour the first hot meal I've had in six days and down the rest of the coffee. Certainly, my brother is a hard-hearted jerk and a treacherous killer, but it's not true that he doesn't care, and I regret that the Diarahan spell has left no trace of the cuneiform he cut into my skin. I rise, and the weight inside is one that no healing spell can fix. I am as much a demon of Bel as I am a child of God. Today, this lockdown ends, and my brother cannot stop me.

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><p>What has it been...three years? Spreading the will of God is like playing a CD. The message never changes, and I often wish I could record my voice saying the words so that I wouldn't have to ceaselessly repeat myself. Instead, I send Amane in my place more than half the time. Let the ones who enjoy the evangelizing practice their hobby, I figure. Peace has returned to the world, as has justice and order. Crime is at an all-time low, and the angels in my entourage start and end the day by singing with joy. Keisuke is finally content with the world and Midori with him. Yuzu has thankfully given up on trying to date me at long last and settled for Atsuro. Regardless, I know he'd jump ship the instant Naoya showed the slightest hint of interest. It's not that Atsuro likes men; it's that Naoya is a singularity in every way, and my best friend is never going to get over my cousin, the cousin I haven't seen since the day I defeated him before summoning Babel.<p>

It's not that I couldn't see him. It's not that I didn't want to. I just didn't know how. For three years, I'd avoided Aoyama. My brother has always been one to bear a grudge and to hold onto it forever. I, however, liked things just as I remembered them, so I saw no reason to rock the boat. My memories as Abel are returning gradually, and I remember the day he slashed at my jugular with a razor-sharp stone. I remember the offerings and his jealousy, how I loved his image in his twin sister, Luluwa, as he would never love me. I shake my head in derision. I can strike down demons and command the King's Gate, but I can't even face the brother I've longed to see.

It's fascinating walking around town as the Messiah. There are always the fanatics that crowd around you and refuse to leave you alone, and then there are the ones who hide from you, peeking out to see if you have passed and hoping you won't notice them. I care little if they're not disrupting the peace, so I leave them be. Ironically, the only ones who don't treat me like a glorified saviour are the ones who survived the lockdown with me. It gets tiresome. Normal people can't see the angels hovering around me in a semicircle, but I can't even enjoy the atmosphere of Spain-zaka in their constant presence. Yet, when the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, I immediately feel my spirits rise slightly. I follow the aroma to a quaint European cafe and stop.

It is Sariel who first notices the cause of my hesitation, of course, and he strikes a battle stance. "Cain. How dare you show yourself here still?"

Naoya sets his coffee cup down and turns in our direction with a smirk. "Sariel of the Evil Eye. You think I planned this. Can I not simply be drinking coffee in a popular bistro anymore?"

Our eyes meet across the street, and out of the blue, nothing matters anymore. "Leave us," I tell the angels before Sariel can respond.

"You mustn't, Abel. He seeks to kill you." Anael is the first to protest.

"He cannot."

"He is a deceiver; he will twist your mind with his lies."

He already has, but that won't help the situation. "He can say no more now than he did then, Kazfiel. Leave us."

Sariel is about to say something more, but I cut him off, and this time I speak with the voice of Bel. "He is my brother. I demand our privacy. Now leave us."

It is the voice of a king, and despite their affiliation, they recognize the power. Reluctantly, they acquiesce and depart. As soon as they are gone, I approach Naoya. Neither of us speaks, and I simply throw my arms around him in desperate embrace. I could never hate him, no matter how badly he would like to reject the idea.

"...Hmph. Not all you thought it would be, little brother?"

"We have peace. There is no crime and no war. The kind and just are safe, and God is pleased. There will be no more ordeals."

Naoya laughs, as always a hollow and resentful sound I only wish I could change. "And there is no progress and no freedom. If you think it is over, you are naive. When your mortal life runs out, it will begin anew, and you'll see I am right, Abel."

"Cain, please." I sigh tiredly and change the subject. "Will you not come with me?"

"...You must be joking. I have my apartment warded like the depths of hell to keep those pests out, and you suggest I stay with them?"

I smile wistfully. "Will you let me in if I visit?"

My cousin pulls away to give me a strange look. "When have I not?"

I close my eyes and whisper his name. A heaviness I barely noticed in my chest lifts.

He turns me around gently and holds me close from behind. "Look around you, little brother. See the awe and the fear in their eyes. How different is this from being the King of Bel? By any other name, yours is a reign of terror. Only this way, even you are not free. Is this what you wished for, Abel? All your potential wasted just like this. Are you happy?"

I would be if he were with me, but I don't say that. Instead, I turn to press my forehead to his on the empty street. It seems that the humans in the vicinity thought my order to vacate the area applied to them as well. "Brother..." I murmur. "If nothing changes and, in a thousand years, history repeats itself, then that time, Naoya... I promise you... I promise you I will go with you."

"You will remember nothing."

"But you will hold me to it."

"Naturally, I have multiple chances, but they remain finite in number."

Our lips touch briefly, and I want him to take me home already.

"Heheh... Remember, Abel. Next time." He whispers the words in Akkadian, a language I suddenly understand as well as my native Japanese. "_Together_."

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><p>Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it, and reviews are always wonderful. Back to work I go.<p> 


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